Book Review – Jack Fish
Author: J. Milligan
Cover Artist: Allison Meierding
Publisher: SoHo Press
Binding: Paperback
Publication Date: January 2006
JACK FISH by J Milligan is the story of an agent sent to the Topworld by the Elders of Atlantis on a mission of assassination. The Atlanteans have been living quietly and secretly below for centuries, with only the wily islanders of Malta any the wiser. The two cultures are in perpetual opposition as the Maltese seek to expose the truth of the powerful civilization that reported its own complete destruction millennia ago. This premise could just as easily fuel an epic, but here it drives a farcical espionage caper about an inept water-breather in a blue mankini learning about sex, transit, and dining in New York.
It’s difficult for Jack to avoid plunging his head into toilet bowls for relief while learning to breathe air not water, and the I-Heart-NY on all his clothes and the flatulently-named Swedish furniture in his safe house warns the reader that a snooty spy yarn this ain’t. This story is, instead, largely one about Jack’s naivete, which is considerable, and the currents of bizarre events and characters upon which he’s carried. For a supposedly carefully selected and highly-trained agent, he is a passive fool, content in convincing himself that whatever he’s doing at the moment- from eating hallucinogenic hamburgers to ogling a girly punk band- “Is The Job.” That said, it’s quick-moving and satirical, discovering the filthy perversity of NYC’s artistic underbelly as well as the metrosexual haunts of the skyscraper set. For readers who know the city, the newcomer’s perceptions of the local landscape and customs offer relevant and funny jabs at Gotham’s expense while the hero is simultaneously being seduced by its grimy charms.
Most importantly, given the number of expended words and incidences, Jack eats and drinks. Often. Various things. But mostly fast or street feeds. The sushi of understanding he shares with his targeted victim is described with poetic detail and emotional weight. One fun conceit is the dissemination of Atlantis’ symbolism and influence across modern culture, as clearly communicated to the enlightened as the news bulletins on Trident gum wrappers. Physical movements and timelines can get confused, and the urgent facets of the plot seem absolutely secondary to the way-out conversations and Jack’s consumption, giving the book a trippy, dissociated feel. Nonetheless, there is great invention and description for readers who enjoy a streaming, extrapolated prose style. As an example:
“Jack kept his eyes closed and faced the beach, letting the sounds and smells buffet his face in a sensory storm- he heard the white noise of the waves hitting the sand and voices warning about the undertow and screams set to the arrhythmic clatter of the old wooden roller coaster and squeaking brakes and honking horns and tinny scraps of carnival music and the cartoon impacts of bumper cars and a Babel of voices casting fishy lies into the water on kite string and twine from the pier above; and he smelled sausages and pink-spun sugar and urine and sunscreen and beer and the acrid sweat of captive Belugas in the aquarium and the smoky boredom from the freakshow and fried clams and popcorn and car exhaust and fear and joy and anger and love- and Jack’s knees gave way as the pressure of it all pushed him over and down under the water, again where he could watch the sand move back and forth, and everything was green and blue and brown.”
If that single, preceding megasentence grooves you, it gets stranger and funnier and more chemical from there. If that style doesn’t delight, or a strong, suspenseful plot arc with resolution and reasonable character motivation are absolute musts, you might opt to wait for an Atlantis novel with maps on the flyleaves and the founding nobles’ genealogical tables in the appendices.
About Clare: New York area writer
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